Drowning in Mercury
by slightlysickpsycho
Summary: Ginny is disturbed, anorexic, and lusting after Malfoy. Draco is intrigued by the girl's strange behavior. Rating changed to M to be safe- deals with serious issues and will get smutty at some point.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter!

This is my first Draco/Ginny fic, so please, please, please review?

I didn't eat today. I push the food around my plate at dinner, but how wrong could it be, when no one sees? I don't care what happens in the end. This world is being burned alive by war, and all I have is right now, this single moment, and right now, I want to be thin.

I can tell Luna is watching. Hell, maybe everyone is. I tell myself they're just jealous, but I still know worry when I see it. Fred and George keep stealing glances at me, and I know that they know, even if they can't find the words to confront me.

And the worst thing? Those mercury eyes following my every move from the Slytherin table. Gods, Malfoy, it's not my fault. We aren't all born as perfect as you are. I'm just trying to stand out enough to be somebody different. I'm just trying to be one girl in a family full of brothers, and my body refuses to take a feminine shape, so thin is all I have left to fall back on. I know you wouldn't understand, but I wish you could at least _mind your own fucking business._

I stand to leave and see you push your food away, rising moments after I do. I sincerely hope you know better than to follow me. But I know you don't.

Moments later, you have me cornered.

"Are you sick, Weasley?" Not in a way you could ever comprehend.

"What's it to you, Malfoy?"

"I just want to know if it's contagious." You sneer, and gods, I hate it when you contort your beautiful face that way.

"It's not." I turn to storm away, but your hand catches my shoulder. I spin, wand raised, ready to curse, but you're just looking at me, stormy eyes so intense. I curse the flood of butterflies, praying I won't blush.

"Why didn't you eat dinner?"

"I wasn't hungry."

"What's wrong with you, Weasel?"

"Nothing's wrong." Again, I turn to leave. Your hand catches my wrist, pulling me back.

"What is it then? You didn't eat lunch."

"Why are you watching me eat, psycho?"

"You _don't _eat." And I'm on edge again.

"I eat all the time. Why the fuck would you know either way?"

"I just do, okay?"

"No, it's not okay. You're accusing me of being _sick_, but how could you even know? I'm bloody fine. I feel fantastic! I have Quidditch, I have classes. I don't always eat at the same time as everyone else, but that doesn't mean I eat any less than you do, so piss off!"

"Feeling a little irritable, are we?"

"Maybe I'd feel less irritable if you'd stop bothering me!"

"Fine." you suddenly grow calmer, and terror floods through me.

"Fine what?"

"I'll leave you alone, no problem. I assume you won't mind if I point it out to your friends that you haven't been eating at meals. I'm sure _Potter_ already knows, doesn't he? And that brother of yours? They're just so observant. None of this will come as a surprise." You turn and take a few steps toward the great hall, and I panic. Before I can stop myself, I have you pressed against the wall, and my wand is at your throat.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh," the innocent look on your face isn't fooling anyone, "so they don't know?"

"There is nothing for them to know." I'm speaking through gritted teeth, and the skin beneath the tip of my wand has grown pink under the pressure. It looks rather nice against the pale canvas of your neck.

"Then it doesn't matter what I tell them." You shift beneath me.

"You won't be talking to them at all, then, will you?" I breathe dangerously, my body still pressing yours into the uneven stone at your back.

"It shouldn't matter, should it, if there's nothing for me to say they don't already know?"

"A little dangerous, isn't it," I hiss in your ear, "for you to be out alone without your little body guards?" Your knee slams into my thigh, but I move quickly, stunning you before the pain hits me. I take a moment to gasp for air, to fight the tears that sting my eyes.

"So what now?" I ask, staring back into your grey glare. "I can't keep you here forever, but how can I know you're not going to cause trouble?" I watch your glassy eyes, but you have no way to communicate. Panic rushes through me all at once as I realize what I've done, what will happen if someone finds us here. I release you.

"Keep your mouth shut, Malfoy." I warn.

You're sliding away now, back to the wall.

"Don't worry. I'm not about to mess with a freak like you!"

When you turn the corner, I sigh and sink to the floor, trying to ignore the thrills coursing through me at the memory of your beauty. I can't be having these feelings. I'll just add that to the list of things about me that should never be.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Breakfast is a dreary affair. Hermione is asking,

"Ginny, aren't you hungry?"

And Ron gapes at me like I've gone mad.

Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, those grey eyes glint at me, and you look so smug. I dreamed of you last night, Malfoy. You stupid, irritating, fascinating boy. You held me in your arms and promised me forever, and I leaned in close to inhale your smell, and I knew everything you said was a lie, but I didn't give a flying fuck. All I wanted was to explore that glorious body.

Ron would _really_ think I'm mad if he knew about that. I push melon around my plate, shoving a bite in my mouth whenever I think someone is looking. I insist that I'm too tired to be hungry first thing in the morning, but I know they can all remember how I always gorged at breakfast last year.

This summer, a lot of things changed. I grew taller, but didn't feel any more like a woman. Ron teased me, and Harry patted my head like I was an adorable five-year old, then I watched their eyes glaze over when a pretty girl walked past.

I'm fucking over Harry, not that anyone cares. I had a crush on him when I was ten, for crying out loud. Hardly a good time to be planning for what will happen when I have actual _hormones_ rushing through me. He's like an overgrown puppy, all warm and nice and sickly sweet. I still get teased about how I fancy him, and I don't bother trying to deny it. I think they mistake my annoyance for embarrassment. I don't want a hero. I don't want to be the damsel in distress, pulled away from the seedy underbelly of everything I love and forced into a dull existence where sensuality is frowned upon whenever negative emotions might come into play.

I think my friends greatly underestimate me. The sorting hat tried to put me in Slytherin. I threatened to burn it for making trouble. Even then, I knew, no matter who was around me, in some ways, I would always be alone.

And then there was the diary, but I don't think about that anymore. The experience did open my eyes in many ways. Maybe I was a bit young to know that the world is a cold and unforgiving place, that no matter who you trust, when you turn to someone for warmth, you always risk getting burned. Maybe I'm a little jaded, but as long as I smile like the little girl they wish I was, I don't think anyone will mind.

This summer, I decided that I'm tired of being nothing more than a spare Weasley. I'm going to be something special, something perfect, no matter how much it hurts to get there. I started the diet the day I tried on my swimsuit from last year and found it much too small. That was the day I noticed my stomach had gone a little flabby.

Mum says I'm just growing, that I'd be silly to expect to stay the same size for the rest of my life when I haven't even reached the peak of womanhood. I don't want to stay the same size. I want to get smaller. I want to look like the girls in the muggle fashion magazines I keep hidden under my mattress. I want to be above the empty pleasure of stuffing my face with empty calories. I want my body to be a work of art.

Losing weight takes forever. Barely anyone has noticed that I'm changing. I didn't have to buy new robes this year, because last year's fit just fine. Almost everything I own is second-hand, but this secret is mine, and mine alone.

Class is dull. I chew on the end of my quill, wondering whether anyone in the history of Hogwarts has managed to stay completely awake through a full hour of History of Magic. Maybe Hermione, but if she managed, she deserves a medal. I scribble numbers in the tiny book spelled to open for no one else.

_Breakfast: _

_5 cubes of melon_

_2 egg whites_

_Lunch:_

_Half a bowl of vegetable soup (Hermione was watching)_

Not bad, but not good, either. I wonder if I can find a way to get out of dinner. Maybe I can even go for a run later. I hate running, but there's something satisfying about it, almost because of that, like I'm punishing myself, absolving my sins. When I fall down on the grass, panting, muscles burning, I feel clean, purified.

If I miss anything when I skip dinner, it's certainly not the food. Mealtimes are when I indulge in other senses… sight, touch, smell, sound. I inhale the aroma of everything around me, and my mouth waters, my stomach clenches, and I imagine what it would feel like to take a bite of the rich food that surrounds me, to feel it melting in my mouth. The hard bench I sit on reminds me that I cannot bend to my every whim, and the buzz of conversation echoing through the massive room lulls me into a sort of a trance.

Of course, sight is the most enticing sense in this particular situation. I steal glances at the blonde hair falling over your eyes, at the maddening smirk you wear like a mask, keeping you away from the rest of the world.

I could never, ever, touch you.

But there's no harm in looking.

And even if there was, I'm not sure I could stop.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Every meal I sit through is the same. I pretend to eat, pretend I'm not looking at you, and pretend I care who's winning the house cup or what the Quidditch scores have been. None of the idiots around me would know victory if it bit them in the ass.

I don't bother going to dinner. I've seen too much of you as it is, and it's not like I want the food. Well, maybe I want it, but telling myself I need it would be telling myself I'm weak, and I'd rather run until my calves are burning, until I can hardly stand and my head spins in the shower when hot water falls over my body. My hair has started falling out. Not too much of it, but enough that I notice a difference. I wonder how much longer the thickening spells I use will hide the difference. I guess it doesn't matter. If anyone starts to worry, starts to suspect there's something wrong, I'll do what I've always done, lashing out and pushing them away with icy stares until they don't feel sure anymore that there was something going on with me in the first place.

"Ginny, are you alright?" Hermione is always worried about me.

"I'm fine." I push past her into the dorm, toweling off my damp hair.

"You weren't at dinner."

"I was going for a run. I'll grab something from the kitchen later."

"You're getting thin."

"And you're getting on my nerves. I'm fine. Asking me over and over won't change that."

"You haven't been yourself."

"How would you know?"

She pushes me against the wall, forcing me to meet her eyes when she talks. "Ginny, I know you. I care about you. And I'm not the only one who's noticed there's something going on with you."

"Maybe you should mind your own business for a change."

She sighs, massaging her temples, obviously annoyed and in way over her head. "Ginny, please talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me what's wrong." I know she cares. I know they all do, and if they fully understood that I'm doing to my body, they would never leave me alone. And that's all I want right now, to be left alone so I can destroy myself in peace. It's wrong, but it's what I want, maybe even what I need right now.

I push her away, for what has to be the millionth time. "Nothing is wrong. I'm going to bed."

"It's still early, and I thought you were going to have dinner."

"Later." I mutter. "Please just give me some time alone. I'll be fine, I promise." I'm lying to her, but I've been telling so many lies lately that this almost feels natural. She sighs, I know she isn't giving up, but she knows there's no point in pushing harder tonight.

I fall asleep moments after my head hits the pillow. Sleeping is wonderful. I wish I could spend more of my life consumed by this gentle oblivion. Sadly, my body seems to object. I wake up a few hours later knowing I won't be able to sleep again tonight. At least everyone should be asleep now. At least I can get some peace and quiet. I slip out into the icy corridors. I almost never get caught. I'm good at being invisible, good at hearing approaching footsteps before the other person could even hope to hear me. The twins left the Marauder's map out where I could get to it one summer before I was old enough for Hogwarts. Feeling left out and alone, I studied it, copying the lines and curves until I knew the layout of the castle well enough to find my way around even with its constant shifts. I put it back before they even noticed it missing. I think they gave it to Harry, but I really don't care either way. Knowing the layout of the secret rooms and passages is almost as good as being able to see someone coming when you can hear them the way I do.

I've spent a lifetime watching from the shadows as my brothers played and fought, part of the family but at the same time a separate entity. They always saw me as something delicate and unique, more in need of protection than I could be capable of providing it. Even now, I know they think me weak. It's easier, though, to go unnoticed and underestimated, than it ever would be if I had to prove my strength again and again. Better if they just don't know.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm crazy. I certainly don't have much in common with other girls my age.

I've almost made it to freedom, to that door Filch never thinks to lock, to rich dewy grass and crisp air that feels like starlight in my lungs. I hear a soft shuffling against the floor behind me, like socks whispering against the stone, but when I turn, there is no movement. No one who patrols the halls could be this stealthy, so I'm not concerned. Whoever is behind me probably wants to be seen far less than I do. I ignore them and move forward, throwing myself into the wonderful night air, gasping it in, fulfilling the only hunger I allow myself to sate.

My sneakers are damp from the grass by the time I reach the Quidditch pitch. Organized sports don't appeal to me, really, but I'm a sucker for wind whipping through my hair. I love it much more than I hate combing through the tangles it always leaves.

I know, by this point, that I'm being followed. I've feigned obliviousness to the occasional snapping twig or bit of cloak vanishing behind a tree, but I know my pursuer is drawing close now as I unlock the broom shed. I've always had a knack for getting in to things, after all.

I stroll casually toward the tree and the person it obscures, imagining the fear of getting caught, desperate urges to run far, far, away, and that optimistic paralysis, not daring to blink, or even to exhale, on the off chance the cover isn't completely blown.

I continue my casual approach, counting on that paralysis, and am not disappointed. Quickly, stealthily, I slip around the tree, my forearm shoving soft neck so I can hear the soft crunch of a human head hitting the tree bark.

"Lumos" I whisper, and the face my wand points at threateningly is suddenly illuminated. Oh.

_Oh._

It's you. I lower my wand slightly, but let my body keep yours pinned in place, even though we both know you could easily throw me to the ground. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

"What are you doing out here, Malfoy?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Weasley."

"But you didn't. Answer me before I show you pain."

You roll your eyes, orbs of shining molten mercury in the harsh light cast by the wand I hold inches from your face. "Don't pretend you know anything of pain, little girl."

"Little girl? I'm only a year younger than you are." And I absolutely loathe you. I want to hurt you and kiss you, and you make me feel more than anyone should have to. Too many conflicting emotions. It'd be best if I avoid you.

"Just leave me alone." I sigh, letting you go and turning to walk away. I can feel you, hear you walking a few steps behind me, but I don't want to talk now. I hate talking. Every conversation I have is full of lies and pretenses because the truth makes people too uncomfortable. When someone asks how I am, they want to hear 'good', or 'fine', not that I haven't eaten in two days and my stomach is twisted in knots, my head is spinning and I wonder if I'm finally going to lose control and faint, or that I hate myself so much it's hard to sit through boring lectures without weeping over my own inadequacies. Conversation is uncomfortable, and to me, unnecessary. I spin to face you.

"Piss off." I hiss, surprised at your closeness, on some level even concerned about my breath. Not that it matters how you think I smell. Not that you imagine how I might taste the way I imagine my tongue trailing over your skin every time you walk past me and I catch a hint of your intoxicating scent. You smell like something I can't quite describe or remember, but that scent has become inextricably intertwined with every bit of my consciousness.

"You weren't at dinner." You say softly, and it's not a question at all.

"I just grabbed something from the kitchens." Recycling lies gives them an odd sort of credibility, but I know you don't believe me.

"Funny, because you would have had to walk past my common room to do that."

"How would you know where I have and have not been walking?"

"In Slytherin, we like to keep track of those lurking near the entrance to our house. It happens to be close enough to the kitchen that I would be aware if you had made a special trip."

"Maybe I had someone bring me food."

"Why would you lie?"

"It's none of your fucking business. What have you ever done that makes you think I owe you any honesty at all?" I can't stand you, but I'm turned on. I want to crush you against the ground, kiss you until I taste blood.

"You didn't eat at lunch." Again, not a question.

"I wasn't hungry." I glare as hard as I can, hoping the dim starlight is enough to illuminate my anger.

"You didn't eat dinner."

"Maybe I don't feel well."

"You ran instead of eating."

I slap you, and the sound of it cuts through the stillness. You don't even look surprised.

"What's your problem, Weasley?" You don't sound sarcastic, there is no loathing in your voice, just curiosity and maybe… maybe even concern. I don't allow myself to nurture such silly notions.

"What's _my _problem? I'm not the one stalking someone I hate."

"Did I say I hate you?"

"Of course you hate me."

"What makes you think that?"

"Everything." I can't stop staring at the way your irises reflect the starlight. It's almost too beautiful to bear. I look away and banish those thoughts. They've been coming to me more and more lately, realizations of the beauty of every part of you, desires that can never be fulfilled.

"I hate Potter, and I hate your brother. You're pretty neutral, when you're not attached to them."

"Thanks." My voice drips with sarcasm that could make even you proud.

"So what the hell are you trying to do?"

"I'm trying to get some space. Mind leaving me alone?"

"I'm talking about in general. I never see you eat, and you're getting so thin it sort of creeps me out."

"I'm sorry my body disgusts you." I hope you can't see my blush in the darkness, or the smile tugging at the corners of my lips at the thought that you think I'm thin.

"What's going on with you?"

"I can't fucking breathe! I finally get a break from my brother and my roommates and Hermione, and here you are, interrupting a perfectly good night." At this point, you really are little more than an annoyance to me. I can't do any of the things I want to with you, or say the words that burn behind my lips, so even though I'm drowning in your eyes, your presence here is nothing but torture. "Go back to the castle." I mutter as I take a few steps closer to my broom, closer to the cold night air rushing past and making my head spin with unadulterated bliss.

You catch my hand just as I think I'm out of reach, and I spin, plunging once more into the unexpected depths of those knowing eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Why? So you can tell the whole school?"

You let out a heavy sigh, and I'm confused. "I won't tell anyone, okay? It just… It bothers me and I don't know why. It seems like you're dying and even though you have friends clinging to you everywhere you go, no one else sees it. It's driving me crazy and I just want to know what the hell is going on."

"It doesn't make sense for you to care."

"I just want to know." And I stare at your pale face, and you look like you really do care, but I don't understand why. The words catch in my throat, ready to tumble free at any moment, so I do the only thing I can think of that won't end in disaster.

I tear my hand free and run back into the castle, through the most twisted and winding route I can imagine, back to Gryffindor tower, and, finally, back to the silent safety of the curtains that enclose my bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Surprisingly, after my encounter with you, I manage to fall asleep. Unfortunately, instead of falling into blissfully blank oblivion, I find myself dreaming of you, dear Draco.

_You're lying in the grass by the lake, blonde hair falling around your head, free and unruly instead of slicked back the way you always wear it. I'm hiding behind a tree, and I'm watching you, Draco. I love the way your body moves, even when you're simply breathing, shadows of the leaves above you laced over your face._

_That's when I realize I'm not the only one being watched. Your face is turned away, but I know that you can see me, and I'm not sure what to do. I want to fall down in the grass beside you, but it's hard to leave the safety of my hiding place behind the tree. Slowly, shyly, I move forward._

_You only smile and beckon for me to come closer. I sit down beside you and your fingers start sliding through my hair. It feels wonderful. Your lips find mine and my entire body tingles. I shudder as your tongue caresses my lower lip, and eagerly part my lips to allow you entrance. Our bodies drift closer together, and I realize just how badly I want you. Your hands start to explore my body._

_The swelling starts in my stomach, but spreads quickly and doesn't stop. The fat inflating my grotesque body pushes you away, and you stare at me with eyes full of horror before you turn and run. I try to drown myself in the lake, but I am too fat to sink. _

I sit up in bed, trembling, drenched in a cold sweat. I part the hangings to see that the sky outside is still fiery orange. The sun is rising. My roommates won't be up for hours. Maybe I'll go for a run. I wonder if I can make it back in time to slip into bed and pretend I spent all of last night sleeping. I don't even understand how they can sleep so much. I feel drained, tired all the time, but when I close my eyes at night, my thoughts only get brighter and harder to ignore, thoughts of my mistakes, fears of never being perfect enough.

I pull on a pair of Ron's old jogging pants (I hate hand-me-downs), a shirt, and some sneakers, and slip outside. I never get caught this early in the morning. Everyone is asleep by now. The early morning air bites into me like ice, but I'll feel warm soon enough. I run along the lake, enjoying the way it reflects the first rays of sunlight. It's not as good as flying, but maybe I'll let myself fly tonight, if I do well enough at meals.

I'm thin, I know, on some level, but another, much stronger part of me _knows_ I'm not thin enough. I push myself to run faster. The air I breathe burns my lungs, but I keep going. I don't care if I collapse, as long as no one finds me.

Now I'm thinking about last night, and a smile breaks across my flushed, sweaty face as I think of you telling me I'm too thin. I'm not stupid enough to believe you, but it feels wonderful knowing you've noticed. I have, after all, tried very hard.

Finally, I collapse in the damp grass, gasping for air. I guess this morning's run is over. I walk back to the castle on wobbly legs, heading straight for the showers.

Today, Fred and George corner me for interrogation about my eating habits.

"You weren't at breakfast."

"I overslept."

"You're getting thin, Ginny."

"You're making excuses."

"I'm getting taller. It's normal to slim down a bit. I just don't want to outgrow my clothes."

"That's funny-"

"-because it looks like the ones you're wearing are older than they should be."

"It's not my fault I can't afford new clothes!"

"That's not what we mean. Ginny, what's going on?"

Two sets of amber eyes stare at me, so much like my own and pleading for an explanation. Too bad I have nothing to say to them.

"Is this another stupid prank?"

"We've never been more serious about anything. Ginny-"

"-you need help."

"We can take you to see Madam Pomfrey now, if you want. We'll do anything we can to help you get better."

"Anything." It still freaks me out that I can't tell two of my own brothers apart.

"I appreciate your concern, really, but I'm fine."

"Ginny, stop."

"This has gone on for too long."

"We're worried about you."

"Please-"

"-let us help."

"There's nothing wrong with me! Maybe the two of you should have _your_ heads checked out, since you're clearly delusional."

I can't stand this conversation anymore. I walk away as quickly as I can without breaking into a run, and duck into the first girl's bathroom I see, glad they can't bother me there.

I lean back against the cool stone wall and slide down to the floor. I sit quietly, waiting for my heart to stop racing and my breathing to return to normal, but it's only getting worse, even though I'm sitting still. My heart feels like it'll explode out of my chest at any moment, and I can't seem to get enough air. I take fast, desperate, shuddering breaths, unaware of the tears sliding down my face. I'm getting dizzy now. I sprawl out on the floor, unconcerned about the indignity of my position, trying to calm down, trying to absorb the coolness of the floor.

It seems like an eternity, but finally, my body slows down and I feel almost normal, but exhausted. I stand up on wobbly legs, smoothing my skirt and preparing myself to face first hour.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

History of Magic is terrible. My eyes feel dry and swollen and I can barely stay awake. My quill scratches idly against my parchment until I realize I'm drawing you and nearly snap it in half. I try to be discreet as I steal a glance at the people sitting near me. Thankfully, they all seem to be asleep. I wad up the sketch and prod it with my wand, watching it seep down into a pile of ashes on the table in front of me. No one notices, not that I thought they would. I am invisible.

Potions is strange. Snape keeps looking at me in the oddest way, like he's trying to figure something out. As if he didn't decide he hated me the moment he laid eyes on me. His stare makes me nervous. I try not to mess anything up, but my head is fuzzy and everything around me seems muted.

"Miss Weasley, are you alright?" Snape's voice seems far away, and I'm having trouble focusing my eyes, but I refuse to lose control of my body in a room full of people.

"I'm fine, Sir." My knuckles whiten as I grip the edge of my table, and for one horrifying moment I think I might vomit, but I take a careful deep breath and the feeling passes. His beady dark eyes are focused on mine, two shining points of darkness peering out of a chalky pale face, and I feel exposed. My insides twist.

"Speak with me after class." he murmurs, before walking away.

Naturally, that's all it takes to wreck my concentration. The rest of the class is agonizingly tense for me, as I wonder what he wants to discuss. My stomach turns to lead as everyone starts to gather their things and turn in samples. I know trying to avoid Snape is pointless. I approach his desk slowly, shoes scuffing reluctantly against the stone floor. His eyes travel over my body, leaving me feeling even more exposed than I normally would, then narrow suspiciously.

"Are you unwell?"

"I think I'm just coming down with something, Sir, but I feel fine."

"You've lost an unusual amount of weight since the start of term, Miss Weasley."

I stare at the ground, unsure that to say. "Thank you?" I venture, stealing a quick peek at his face to see if my response was what he expected. His gaze has grown even more intense, something I didn't even realize was possible. He seems displeased for some reason. My cheeks are burning.

"That was not intended as a compliment, Miss Weasley. You used to be one of the best in your year, but lately you're barely passing my class. Is there something troubling you?"

Snape? Concerned? I groan. This must be a fucked up dream.

His eyes focus on me more intensely. "You're very pale. Do you need Madam Pomfrey?"

Not a dream. A nightmare. "No, Sir. I'll be fine, but I have to get to Transfiguration."

"You will be back here at seven-"

"You're giving me detention?"

"No."

"You just said-"

"I would suggest waiting until someone is finished speaking before you react. You will be coming here three nights a week for tutoring until your grades in my class improve."

"Can't I just have Hermione help me?"

Snape's face contorts into a disgusted sneer. "The purpose of these sessions is to have the material explained to you, not for someone else to simply take over and complete the assignments in your place. I will see to it that you meet with someone more _suitable._"

I shoot him a look of pure loathing before rushing to make it to Transfiguration. Class drags by more slowly than usual since I'm not allowing myself the luxury of sketching anymore (I can't afford to risk someone catching me absentmindedly drawing you).

I know I should eat something at lunch to keep myself from passing out later, but those gleaming pools of liquid steel peer fiercely at me from the other side of the hall, and my stomach twists in knots. Hermione keeps giving me strange, significant looks. After ten minutes pass and I still haven't taken a single bite, she leans across the table and asks in a low voice,

"Ginny, is something wrong?"

I shrug. "Nope. Just not that hungry."

Her eyes narrow. "Did you eat breakfast?"

I laugh, but it sounds a little strained. "Of course I ate breakfast. A bit too much of it, actually."

"Whatever you say." Her eyes linger on me for a moment, but she seems to forget her concern as she becomes absorbed in her conversation with Harry and Ron. I catch Neville watching me with a worried look on his face, and feel bad about the hurt I see in his eyes when I discourage his interest with an icy glare.

I try not to look at you, but I always seem to end up facing the Slytherin table when I sit down for a meal. My heart flips over in my chest when I catch you watching me again. Your elegant, angular face looks so pure, unmarred by freckles like the ones splattered over my body. I wish I had clean, pale skin like yours, or that I could run my fingers, just once, through the silky platinum hair that falls around your face.

I try to look annoyed, or busy, or anything but fascinated with you, but it's not easy. You are, by far, the most interesting thing in the room right now, and it's hard to look away.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

When I'm fasting, sometimes it feels like I'm floating in the middle of a black, icy ocean, far from everything around be and barely shaken by the rushed, chaotic changes of the world that's all around me but always beyond my reach. That might sound like a terrible way to feel, completely distant and numb, but it sort of puts the pain I would be feeling on mute. My body goes on autopilot and I retreat to some tiny corner of my head where I can watch my life unfold like a casual spectator.

Maybe this detachment is why it feels as though only five minutes have passed since breakfast when the sun is sinking low in the sky and I'm making my way to the dungeons. Some parts of today felt like hours, dragging on relentlessly, but it all rushed through my fingers before I had the chance to breathe.

The heavy door to Snape's room feels cold and hard against my knuckles. _Even his voice sounds greasy_, I muse as he greets me from somewhere inside with the typical lack of enthusiasm.

"Enter."

And I have to give the door a little shove with my shoulder before it creaks open, which hurts a lot more than I thought it would. It might even leave a bruise. I feel oddly pleased by that thought, but try not to dwell on it.

Those awful, beetle black eyes glitter at me curiously, and I shrink inside my skin. _What the hell is he looking at? _The tinkling sound of glass jars touching and my heart stops when I turn and see you coming out of the supply closet.

"What's Malfoy doing here?"

Snape looks at me like I'm an idiot. "He'll be assisting you with your studies until your performance improves."

I can feel my mouth opening and closing as I try to think of the right words to explain that this is all a big mistake, that there's no way I can spend three nights a week close enough to feel the heat of your body, Draco, and attempting to focus on handling volatile ingredients. This can't even be safe. But what can I say?

You just stare at me with those cold, stormy eyes. They glint so intensely in the dim dungeon light I wonder if there are tiny strands of brilliant silver woven into the dull, emotionless gray. It occurs to me that Snape might not have told you who you would be tutoring. You give him this strange, helpless look that makes me sure you had no idea who you'd be putting up with, and the smirk he shoots you in response almost seems to say _you asked for this._

But what could you have done to make him want to punish you? I haven't moved since you emerged from the closet, and I'm suddenly hit by the overwhelming sense that I shouldn't be here at all. I start moving toward the door, hoping to vanish into the labyrinth of corridors, if only to buy myself enough time to regain some composure.

"Miss Weasley, where do you think you are going?"

"I just thought…" my cheeks are flooded with color but I grasp at shadows, "I thought I'd give the two of you a moment to talk, and…"

"That will not be necessary." Snape cuts in sharply, and you, like a typical Malfoy, have already regained some degree of composure. You carry the ingredients you've just gathered to one of the tables, running untamed steel eyes over my body with that stupid aristocratic sneer plastered over your face. I move to meet you, but pause, gripping the back of a chair as the ground swims beneath my feet. I crinkle my eyes shut. _Not now,_ I plead, willing my legs to feel stronger. My head spins with shock as the weight of my bag is lifted from my shoulder, and there you are, so close I imagine I can feel the warmth of your skin. I imagine the sensation of running my fingertips slowly over your face, tracing each tiny arch and curve, memorizing your perfection.

"You look ready to pass out, Weasley." Your voice is low in my ear, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck tingle with anticipation. I struggle to focus on what you're saying.

"I'm fine, Malfoy." I start making my way to the table where you've piled ingredients in front of a cauldron, but you stop me, planting a surprisingly steady hand firmly on my shoulder.

"Are you? You didn't eat at dinner."

"I eat all the time, just not always on the same schedule as everyone else." I don't want to alarm you, terrified you'll raise your voice and attract Snape's attention.

"Then why are you so fucking thin, hmm?" Your eyes narrow, glinting like dark stars in the vast silvery whiteness of your unblemished face.

"Not now, Malfoy." I plead, almost expecting to be mocked, but instead you only look more serious.

"You're going to talk to me about this," you promise in a gravelly whisper, "and you're going to talk to me soon."

I nod, afraid to do anything else.

"So," you look at me calmly, speaking in a completely normal tone, "do you need more help with theory or technique?" And shockingly, you don't confront me again for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

I wake shortly after dawn again. I feel worse than if I hadn't slept at all. Still, I drag my aching body out of bed and walk to the Quidditch pitch, to run and practice flying. It's better, anyway, to shower in the changing rooms where no one sees my body. Even when no one says a word, I know my doughy flesh makes them cringe. I almost scream when I step out of the changing room and see you, waiting, watching with those heavy gray eyes.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I told you you would tell me what's going on."  
I walk past you, bumping your shoulder as hard as I can on the way to the castle, trying not to flinch as the impact hurts more than I thought it would. Your hand catches my shoulder and I spin to face you. "What?"

"You're going to tell me now." Your eyes bore into mine, and I'm not sure what you're talking about.

"Tell you what, freak?"

Your eyes narrow. "Why you aren't eating."

I laugh hard at this, but it sounds forced and hollow. "I don't know what you mean."

"Should I ask again when I'm tutoring you tonight, in front of Snape?"

My blood freezes. "What?"

"You don't eat, and you get thinner every day. Tell me what's going on."

"I don't know what you're-"

"Stop playing dumb, Weasley." I'm pressed against the wall, cold dew from blades of glass soaking through my sneakers, and I start to give in.

"Maybe I gained a little weight this summer."

You snort, and I can feel the heat pooling in my cheeks. "What?"

"You got a little taller, but if I had to guess I'd say you _lost _weight since last year."

Tears are stinging my eyes, and I'm trying again to get away, but your gaze has me pinned, frozen in place. "What?" I ask, not even sure why I feel like crying.

The look on your face only makes things worse. You look like I've just slapped you. "You can't be serious."

"Stop!" I all but scream, and you're still staring at me, looking almost horrified. "Please stop!" My breath is coming faster, my heart is racing and my head is spinning. You have to be trying to fuck with me, but why do you look so sincere? "I'm _trying_ to lose some weight, Malfoy, I swear, I'm doing everything I can, it just isn't getting better."

Your body moves away from mine. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean it won't come off! I mean what little I've gotten rid of goes away so slowly, I think there's something wrong with me, and I don't know what to do anymore!"

You look shocked, horrified, and a tiny part of me knows why, but the rest of me is churning with confusion, drowning out any reason left in my head. "You're still _trying _to lose weight?"

I can't help it anymore. I start to cry, sagging against your warm, solid body. "Yes" I manage to mutter between sobs. You push me back to look into my eyes.

"Are you serious?"

"Stop!" I yell, "Stop fucking with me!" I push you back as hard as I can and start running toward the castle. I feel a sharp pain in my side but push harder, hoping I can make it back to my common room before you catch me and humiliate me more. I'm sweating now, even though I was freezing a second ago, but I push harder, try to run faster. Suddenly my toe catches on a root twisting out of the ground. My legs feel light and insubstantial, then I fall, hard, against the ground. I close my eyes so I don't have to see the satisfied smirk on your face as you catch up, but I have to open them at the unexpected sensation of you cradling me in your arms, the soft, back and forth swaying of you carrying me.

"What are you doing?" I demand, as I watch your hazy face against the sky. I hear your response from somewhere far away,

"Taking you to the hospital wing."

That's all it takes to revive me. I kick and thrash in your grip, and you lower me to the ground before I can escape and fall. "What's wrong with you?" you demand.

"You're trying to make everyone think there's something wrong with me!"

"There is." There's a gravity in your voice I never would have expected, but I still don't trust you.

"What do you think is wrong?"

"I don't know. You're too thin, but you keep trying to get thinner."

I shake my head hard, and it starts to spin. "What?"

"Something's wrong with you, and I don't even know why I give a fuck, but it's really starting to scare me."

"Stop it! Stop trying to mess with my head."

"I'm not."

"If you take me to Madam Pomfrey over nothing, I'll never forgive you!"

"This isn't nothing!"

"It is!"

Your face flushes with anger. "Fine. We still have time for breakfast. I'll be watching you, and if you don't eat, I'm going to tell Snape." I slap you, but you don't even look surprised. "I knew it." is all you say, and I'm flooded with panic. I find myself agreeing to eat, even though I'm sure you're wrong. You have to be planning something. I just have to go along with it until I can figure out what, and get a step ahead of you.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

I bite down savagely on a piece of bacon. You're an idiot, Malfoy, to think I don't eat. I eat much more than I should, even if some people imagine I eat less than I need. That's stupid. Idiotic. All of it is. The scrambled eggs feel greasy, flaccid and lukewarm as I force them down my throat, bite after bite, barely chewing, and glaring at you. I chase them with orange juice, sharp and acidic, hoping it will cut the overwhelming richness. No such luck. I feel strange and disgusting but I refuse to admit you're right. I can eat anything I want, and I start shoveling the hash browns in my mouth, barely bothering to chew before I swallow. My stomach lurches and I swallow hard. My entire body rebels against this invasion, but instead of stopping, I break off a piece of a scone, popping the sweet hard fluff into my mouth.

My head is swimming, but I don't get why. I don't even feel the body I live in is my own anymore, and the air around me is so thick and hot, I don't know how anyone can breathe. I have to get away, I have to get out. My head is spinning and I can barely stand now, but I'm walking so fast everything around me is a blur, breaking nearly into a run when I get away from prying eyes, until my knees slam against the cold hard tiles of the bathroom floor and my head is resting on my arms as everything I've eaten leaves me. I can't even remember whether I've gagged myself this time. I used to have to shove my fingers down my throat again and again to bring up whatever my body held and couldn't stand, but lately, more often than not, my stomach empties itself without any special prompting. I hate that I can't control it, but I always feel better when it's over. After some deep, steadying breaths, I stand on shaking legs to leave the stall, and my heart leaps into my throat as I see a pair of pale, bare feet on the floor beneath the divider. My heart is racing in my throat, but I brace myself and slowly open the door.

"Luna?" I ask, completely confused.

"Are you alright, Ginny?" Her eyes are so blue it's hard to lie, but still, it's impossible for me not to.  
"I'm fine. I was just feeling a little off this morning. I thought I was just really hungry, but I guess something I ate didn't sit well. I'll skive off classes and rest for a few hours, and I'm sure I'll be fine."

She leans closer, and I feel naked under her gaze. "You've lost weight."

I blush and mumble, "thanks."

"I didn't mean it was good. Ginny, you look sick. I think you need to see Madam Pomfrey."

"No!" I try to fight the panic. "Luna, I'm fine." Why can she always tell when something is amiss? But nothing _is_ wrong, right? I just ate too much. It would make anyone sick. I really should be more considerate of my stomach…

Luna sighs, following as I push past her to rinse out my mouth and splash cold water on my splotchy face. I glance at the mirror and see her dazed blue eyes still fixed on my face. I wonder why she hasn't left yet. "Let me walk you to the hospital wing."

"I told you already, it was just something I ate. All I need is rest."

"What did you eat?"

"I don't know. I don't remember."

"You didn't eat dinner."

"I got something from the kitchens."

"But you don't remember what?"

"Mind your own business, Looney." The serene look on her face doesn't change, but I can tell from the look in her eyes that I've hurt her. I feel bad. I really do like Luna, but I need her to leave me alone, and I don't know how else to make her. I storm out of the bathroom, heading for my first hour class.

You're talking to your friends in the corridor, leaning casually against the wall, but your cool, molten eyes catch mine for long enough that I'm sure I've been seen. I brace myself, but you don't confront me. I can't help but hurt a little when I remember you wouldn't risk being seen anywhere near me.

A heavy weight settles in my stomach when I remember I have potions first hour, with Ravenclaw. Luna is usually my partner, but after what I said to her this morning, I'm surprised when she sits at my table. My fingers are almost numb from the cold of the dungeon air, and my hands are shaking. I make a mental note to order better vitamins. Luna doesn't say much about what happened, but does most of the more complicated work herself, gazing at me curiously from time to time. Snape's passing our table more often than usual, and finally he stops to loom over us. I look up, feeling like a tiny particle floating somewhere deep inside myself. I brace myself for his reprimand, but he addresses Luna instead.

"Miss Weasley will never improve if you continue to do her work for her."

"She isn't feeling well, Sir."

"If she isn't well enough for class, she should have gone to the hospital wing."

My face feels hot and my heart is racing. "I'm fine, Professor."

His dark eyes bore into me, and after a moment, he banishes the contents of out cauldron. "Take her to Pomfrey, Miss Lovegood."

I start to object, but Luna takes my arm with a surprisingly firm grip and steers me out of the room. As soon as we're in the hall, I hiss, "I don't need this."

"Professor Snape said to take you to the hospital wing."

"Since when do you listen to everything he tells you?"

"I listen when he's right, Ginny."

"I'll just go lie down in the dormitory for a while."

She looks at me for a moment and says softly, "No, I don't think you will."


End file.
